Never Look Back
by RavenStoryteller
Summary: Katniss appears to have the perfect life. Loving family, bright future, and a doting boyfriend, Cato, but inside she holds a grim secret. And when her relationship with Cato takes an even darker turn, she decides to leave her life behind. Life as a runaway in the big city tests Katniss and pushes her to the brink. That is until a familiar pair of blue eyes appear. AU MODERN
1. Chapter 1

Author's notes:

Hello all. Thanks for reading "Never Look Back". This is my first fic some please read and review. This story is a bit of a slow burn, but I really want you to understand how confused Katniss is in her own mind. Anyway, Thanks

PS All credit for the Hunger Games, characters and related terms goes to Ms Collins. Only the story is my own

If I had to compare my life to anything, it would be thunderstorms. A sudden onset of brisk winds, bringing forth the unpredictable melody of teardrops. I love to watch them; storms.

Back in my early school years, a teacher told us that they were the result of the air becoming "unstable". When two extremes, hot and cold, collide. Release, I think that's what it is. And yet, I can't imagine the confrontation that preceded this peaceful display.

Hot and cold. Separate they are unbearable, dauntingly so. Yet combined they create a perfectly warm and welcome sensation. Soft caresses, gentle touches, a sigh of both pent up excitement and its impending release. The feeling of wanting more and the hope that it never ends. But it has to start somewhere.

Hot and cold.

Surely the path my mind was laying down would be anything but brief and unfulfilling. It's easy to fantasize about something you've never felt. Release. I guess it's the unknown, the idea that anything is possible that drives my thoughts. I suppose that's why all these syfi/romance movies are so popular. When life has settled into a routine, naturally people objectify themselves as characters. The ones who live out our wildest fantasies fight against oppression, and against all odds, and succeeded. At least that's what I think. Then again, my mind would actually have to take the backseat for a while and let someone else's ideas ignite the spark for once to let that happen.

Fat chance. That's why I'm here, after all. I doubt this is what my counselor meant by keeping a journal. He was probably thinking I'd just jot down what I ate for breakfast or how some crappy chain of events made me feel so I could "reflect on my feelings", only to forget about it when I turn the page.

I wish. The truth is I wish I could just scribble down some random piece of my life, look at it briefly, then move on. You know, that whole storm thing, that's just one of more than a dozen things to pop into my head within the past hour or so. What's worse, that same train of thought will be back to haunt me, even weeks from now.

Trains. The train horn breaks up my latest ramble. It's not terribly close to the point where it wakes me in the middle of the night, but it does pull me back to reality quite often. I have to wonder though….. What is it like to live close the tracks? Does one just get used to it? I think if I ever bought a house, I'd actually choose to be closer, just to save me from my own mind.

No, I'm not crazy… well not entirely. I have these episodes. In all actuality they are panic attacks, I just don't prefer the terminology. Anyway, my episodes, I can handle those. A little "me" time usually does the trick. My headphones turned up so loud that the world around me seems like the perfect music video. The soundtrack to my life. What eats me alive is the fear of the attacks. My mind never stops. It's always ready veer off course, crash and burn. Waiting yet not waiting. It's these moments that drive me insane. Is what I'm thinking real? Why am I talking to myself?

Wait…. Stop Katniss…. Wake up.

I'm not on my front porch anymore and the rain has stopped for now. Where am I? At the store? Why am I here? Do I need something? Is it really past midnight? I catch myself asking these questions even though I already know the answers.

I can't remember the last time I went to a store with the strict purpose of buying something. Don't get me wrong, I love to get out, but the buying part of it hasn't been my motive for a while. It was more of a cover really; a reason to escape from the reality of my life. This was my release.

But it was my secret. Everyone just assumes I have a shopping problem. Truth is, I hate shopping. I just can't seem to rationalize it. Heck, I could make $1 million a day and I'm sure I would still have a problem buying $50 jeans. So, as you can imagine, the majority of my clothes are past their prime. Most are probably around five years old or so and severely outdated.

No, the real reason I shop, the reason I can navigate every store without a single glance, the reason I blackout, only to find myself surrounded by materialistic obsessions is simple. I'm running. Running form my obligations, my reality, and my relationships. I'm running from myself.

You see, my problem, the whole reason I'm sitting here putting pen to paper is because I "lack proper coping mechanisms" and have "an inability to process basic situations". What the hell does anyone know about the life I live within? I dare you to imagine.

Stop. Breathe.

Let me start over. "Hi, my name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm 17 years old. I live in the northern limits of District 12 with my parents, my sister Prim, and my boyfriend, Cato." Despite the apparent fullness of the house, I constantly feel trapped and alone. But I guess that's what I get for opening my heart to someone.

I met Cato at school. "I know this guy who is perfect for you! He's honestly the sweetest guy I know!" That's exactly what my best friend had told me 3 years ago. If that was the case, my current days wouldn't be so dark. I don't know, maybe it is my fault. I let him into my world, told him all my darkest secrets. I mean, what else could I do? His dad left him when he was four years old and started a new family in another district, and his mom was the very definition of dysfunction. For someone with such beauty, she sure had her share of demons. Then again, who was I to judge?

I don't know if could ever bring myself to have children. I'm too damaged. How can I hope to give my kids advice when I can't even figure out my own issues? Don't get me wrong, I would love to have them; I just don't think it would work out.

Anyway, after a crazy night which involved his mom beating him to a pulp and a midnight search to track him down, I convinced my parents to let him live with us. They were against it from the start, but somehow they caved. I know I don't say it enough, but maybe they were right.

The first time he pushed me against the wall, my elbow left a hole in the drywall in my bedroom. His first swing at my face only grazed my cheek, but his grip on my neck left a bruise. When I denied him access to my most private area, he forced his way though. I went numb. It was either that or acknowledge that what I had feared was true. Even things that once brought me joy were replaced with his interests. I had lost my life, yet I was still breathing.

After a while, the bruises heal, the yelling subsides, and the tears dry. But I don't like who I see in the mirror. I'm not me. I am an empty vessel that once carried a free spirit. I had felt love before, but now my heart was filled with disgust.

I have to buy something, or else return to face an assault of questions or something worse. Tampons, perfect. My excuse for being away from home as well as my savior from pain. He doesn't dare try to touch me when it's "that time of the month". He would believe it too. I pick up what I've decided on along with some miscellaneous filler items to help explain the time spent at the store, and head for the check out.

As I place my items on the conveyer belt, I feel the presence of eyes on my face. "Cookie Dough huh?" referring to the pint of ice cream I had just placed down.

"Of course. It is the best flavor after all." I respond, slowly raising my eyes to match his. I'm almost too awestruck to finish my claim. He is my height, five foot seven or so, blonde hair brushed slightly to the side, his blue eyes are deep with character.

"I don't know" he sharply inhales, his lips pulling tightly with his boyish grin. "I think Cake Batter wins the whole 'double dessert' flavor category."

I can feel my cheeks rush with color, which he notices, letting out a small laugh. "Tie perhaps?" I suggest.

"Fine… but just this once!" he turns to the cashier and accepts his change. His presence is hypnotizing and even the cashier seems to lose herself staring at him. His hands appear gentle but are supported by strong arms. Arms that would provide shelter and safety, they seem. Unlike the ones that left their mark on me. I catch myself in his trance in time to hear him ask if I am okay.

I simply nod, letting a small smile escape my face. He returns with one of his own, thanks the cashier, and turns to collect his bags and disappears from the store. I turn my attention to the cashier and complete my transaction. I'm still not quite collected, as I almost forget to grab my bags. My heart is fleeting, as if no matter how hard I try, I can't catch my breath. It's a strange feeling, one I'm not familiar too with, but none the less, this mystery boy has given me a reason to smile.

Once again, I'm zoned out, walking through my life as if I were on auto-pilot. I don't want to wake up and risk losing this sensation. I make my way to my car, starting the engine without thought. As I make my way to the roadway, I once again lock eyes with my mystery boy, waiting in the brisk night air for the bus. Before I can pull up beside him, the bus arrives and I lose view of him as he gets on. Perhaps it was for the best; I have absolutely no idea what I was planning to say. And with that, the bus pulls away, headed towards the city, and I proceed in the opposite direction, his image still locked in my mind.

I don't remember the drive home. My head was occupied, desperately holding on to his image. His piercing eyes, his warm presence, all too fair to be real. Had I imagined him? Was he just another escape from my bitter life I had projected into my mind? No, he was real. The way my heart fluttered at the very thought of him had to be real. I decided then and there that he was.

The familiar sight of my parent's house brings me back down. How I wished to stay in my thoughts, with him. I knew once I opened the door, I would lose myself to Cato's wrath once again.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's notes: Thanks again for reading. I promise to pick things up quickly.

I slowly open my tired eyes. I'm at the beach, the wind softly blowing the sand through my hair. The moon seems bigger than usual, almost like I could reach out and grab it. I would do anything to save this moment. I am at peace, with not a care in the world. The waves crash against the beach, just before my bare toes, leaving them buried slightly as they recede into the dark abyss. I fold my arms against myself, trying desperately to hold on to this feeling.

Suddenly, a light catches my eye from down the beach. It's a flashlight, mostly stationed on the sand, but every once in a while, lifting slightly to shine upon my face. Why did my moment have to end? I'm trying to zone out again, to get back to my previous gaze, but it's no use. The light is much closer now. I stand prepared to confront the person responsible for my loss of serenity. However, once I see his face, I am completely speechless. I find myself caught up in a pair of familiar blue eyes.

"What took you so long? I've been waiting for you." He asks. His voice just as soothing as it had been during our first meeting. I open my mouth to answer, but I'm still at a loss for words. What is wrong with me? SAY SOMETHING!

"Come on, I want to show you something." He finally responds to my awkward silence, lending out his hand to mine. His skin is softer than I imagined, as my hand seems to glide over his until our fingers intertwine. As we turn to walk, following his lead, I glance back over my shoulder to remember my origination. But my eyes can't stray for long, as soon I find myself staring at him once again. His arms are strong, leanly built muscles covered in golden tan skin. His shoulders are broad yet gentle, as if he could lift me effortlessly. His face, oh my goodness, that face, the perfect balance of masculinity and childlike wonder. And his eyes, the stories they could tell. They look much more mysterious in the moonlight. He must notice my fixated gaze as he responds with a smile.

"Where are we going?" I finally ask. It doesn't really matter, I'd follow him anywhere.

"You'll see, we're almost there. Trust me." It had never occurred to me that I was putting my trust in someone I didn't really know. To be perfectly honest, I knew nothing about him other than the fact that he prefers to do his shopping late at night and live in the city. I don't even know his name. I decide not to ask him, I didn't want to ruin this moment with him.

We continue walking just along the breaking point of the waves. The bottom of my dress is soaked, lightly weighing it down against the wind blowing against it. I glance over at his feet, exposed by his equally wet, rolled jeans. Even the way he walked was perfect.

Before I know it, we have stopped. "It took me a while, but I found it. The perfect spot." He says with a light smirk upon his face. I look just ahead a see a grouping of large rocks, the waves breaking upon them, and spraying upwards into the air. Then it occurs to me, he is right. Ever since I was a little girl, I've always wanted to know what it was like to stand on rocks like these, as the waves break behind me, just like in all those stereotypical romance novel covers and princess movies _._ I never dreamed about meeting prince charming at a ball or dancing in a beautiful gown. I always pictured this as a truly romantic idea. I know it's cheesy, but a girl can dream.

I can't contain myself. I leap forward into his arms, smiling against his cheek until he turns his head so that his lips meet mine. It's the most gentle kiss I could ever imagine, full of passion, yet careful. His hand runs through my hair, my curls flowing in the breeze. I try to take it all in, but it's too much to process. In this moment, I come undone in his arms.

How could he possibly share my feelings? Wait, what are my feelings? I just met him. Is he thinking the same thing? He initiated the kiss, right? How did he know about the rocks? He couldn't. No, there's no way for him to know. Wake up.

I open my eyes.

The clock in my bedroom reads 4:13am. It was only a dream, yet I could still feel the warmth of his embrace, the sweet smell of his skin. Why did I have to wake up? Why couldn't I just stay there in my dreamland, where no one could get to me? It was too good to be true.

My door is still locked, so I know safe for now. I assume my little lie had fooled Cato since I didn't wake up from another nightmare. I must have laid on my face wrong because my cheek is throbbing where the bruise was trying to heal. I consider getting a damp wash cloth to ease my pain, but I decided against it and instead just try to fall back asleep, hoping to slip back into my dream.

Much to my dismay, the next thing I see is the sun shining through my sheer green curtains, warming my cheek ever so slightly. I lay there for as long as I can, trying everything and anything to remember my sweet dream. I have nothing to do today so hanging onto that sliver of happiness seems like the best thing to do at the moment. It's Tuesday, around 10am or so, Cato is already at work by now no doubt. I, thankful for a peaceful night as I glance over and see my door still locked.

I wished I could fall back into my earlier dream. For that brief time (though not real), I was free. Not afraid of anything, free to breathe and live my life. Oh I wished I could be with him. How ridiculous is this? How do I know what this guy was really like? For all I know, he is some creep who just puts on a charming front to attract girls. What if deep down he was no better than Cato? It's not like he was cruel when I met him. Sure, they all start out nice, it's not like I woke up one morning and said "I think I want to smacked around. Better yet, why not destroy myself completely?" No, this guy couldn't be like Cato. I know it sounds cliché but I could see it in his eyes.

His eyes. Just thinking about them makes me yearn for their gaze. A warm feeling overcomes me and I find myself cuddled around my pillow as a deep sigh escapes my mouth. The euphoria I feel is overwhelming. All the possibilities that lie with him. Perhaps it's the unknown, the slight chance of my happy ever after that, while completely unfounded, brings a smile to my face. I don't care if it sounds ridiculous, I can't help it. A girl can dream, right?

I slowly rise myself from the bed and make my way to bathroom. I would like to add that one of the greatest things about this new house is that I have my own private bathroom within my bedroom. Sharing with my brothers was torture.

I reach inside the shower and turn on the hot water. Steam quickly fills the small room as I slip out of my night gown. I've never been comfortable in my bare skin: too many scars. Scars are constant reminders of our past. The ones on my shins tell the tale of a die-hard softball player, on my arms, days of climbing trees and falling off my bike. It's not like they are bad memories, I just don't like to remember anything. It makes forgetting the bad memories much easier.

I catch a glance of my bare form in the vanity mirror. I don't know why I'm not secure with myself. Sure, I'm no supermodel, but for a girl who has never formally worked out or dieted, I have to admit, I look pretty good. I really should embrace my looks. When I'm older, I'll look back of these days with envy.

One day. For now, I wake myself from my stare and step into the shower. I let out a small gasp as the scolding hot water hits my shoulders, rubbing them as the instantly turn red. I know it sounds sick, but I love this feeling. It makes me feel alive, like I'm in control over my body. Plus, I think it beats creating more scars.

I stand under the water for what seems like forever before I realize I'm daydreaming again. Only this time, I don't remember what I was thinking about. I've been in here so long that the hot water is running out, slowly becoming mildly warm. I hurry and wash my hair and body, shutting off the water the second I am rinsed clean. In contrast to the hot water, the air is brisk and cold in comparison, and I quickly wrap myself in my towel.

For whatever reason, I decide to take the time to do my hair and makeup today. Usually, my hair is swiftly put into a briad and my face is left bare. Why should I bother taking the time to make myself look beautiful? It's not like anyone would look at me like that. But today is different. Maybe it's my dream from last night, but I feel empowered. Like I matter and am worthy of attraction. I style my hair so my curls cascade down over my shoulders and my long bangs frame my face by way of a side part. For some reason, when I style my hair this way, the chocolate hue of the strands seems to pop. For my face, I gently paint an array of earth tones, finishing with a pale pink lip gloss. In the end, even I am amazed at my transformation. It's been a while since I loved the way I looked. It's funny to think that a silly dream can inspire such feelings.

I dress myself in my favorite jeans and a black tee. I know it's not the most lively of colors, but I think black is definitely my color. Without much more thought, I grab my purse and head out the door of my room, down the stairs and out of the house. The leather of my car seat feels cool through my jeans, and it's this shocking feeling that reminds me that I'm alone. I start the car and back out of the driveway. Taking one last glance of my house, I shift into first gear and speed away, leaving behind my personal jail.

My house is not a home. Home is where your soul lives. It's where you feel safe and can be free to love life. Somewhere to be with the ones you love and embrace them. But there, I'm not safe, I'm not free. And though I'm sure my family loves me, they are still blind to my pain. They don't understand me. My mom tries. I've always seen her as my closest friend. If anyone matters in my life, it's her. But as much as she cares, I don't think she honestly knows me. I don't think it's really her fault. I have become quite the shut in these past few years. My dad on the other hand makes no effort. Growing up, I was the perfect little daddy's girl. I played sports, he coached my softball and basketball, I helped him with every construction project he had around the house. Then I lost it. And though my diagnosis was a relief to me, my father denied it. "This whole thing is crazy! It's all in her head! Just because she gets stressed doesn't mean she has a 'disorder'!" I heard him yell at my mom the night after my first appointment. You see, my dad grew up in a home where you don't believe in psychology. "It's all in your head." "There are no such things as mental disorders." "People on meds just want a quick fix because they can handle life." I can't tell you how many times I've heard these words. I don't think he means to sound cruel, it's just his upbringing. I think it's his whole opinion on my situation that has made him oblivious to my current troubles.

I tried talking to my parents about Cato when he first began pushing me around, but I think they just dismissed it as me overreacting. Anyway, I'm sure they mean well…

I don't know where I'm going. I'm just driving, enjoying the wind in my hair from my open windows. Where we live, there is a strange combination of city, suburbia and urban landscape. We were right dab smack in the middle of a suburban town. Go about 20 miles south on the main road and you hit the good old Capitol. Five or six miles north on that same road and you are surrounded by the acres of farms and 19th century houses that make up District 11. Every turn brings on new discoveries. An always changing landscape.

I start my journey with a left turn off our street and head north into the country. I think I just want to be alone with my thoughts. Something about driving down those winding roads just puts me at ease, and I can really think. The fresh air and sounds of the wind breaking against my open windows, just feels right.

I'm not sure how long I've been driving, but it must have been a long while. I'm gas gauge which started out at the 1/3 mark is now flashing a red light. I decide to make a stop at a small gas station. It must be family owned. There are only two pumps and the attached convenience store is partially in ruins. After my car is refueled, decide to reverse my direction and head toward the city. Thank goodness for GPS. I have no idea where I am, let alone how to get out of here.

As I regain my bearings, I suddenly decided to turn towards the beltway, making my way towards the beginning of the metro line. For sure, this meant I wanted to go into the city. Why? I was never comfortable in the city. Too many people I suppose. And while I loved the idea of city living, I was without a doubt no city girl.

I park my car at the park and ride and proceed to gather only what I can fit into my pockets. I just didn't want to be weighed down by my bag. I had slipped my phone and wallet into my jeans and grab my hoodie from the trunk, locking the car as I begin to walk away. It's late June, but the air is cool, around 70 degrees, if I had to guess. I make my way down the path, towards the platform and purchase a day pass. I'm alone at the station, but it's not long before the train arrives and I board.

There are twelve stops between here and the end of the line, and I decide on number eleven. Where I'm going exactly or why I'm going there has finally crossed my mind, and I don't know the answer to either question. All I know is that I didn't want to stay where I was.

I must have spaced out again because the next thing I remember is reading out the window…

Welcome to the Capitol.


	3. Chapter 3

I had almost forgotten how beautiful the city really is. Historic buildings line the main roads, while tall, narrow townhomes stretch down the side streets in every direction. I always thought it was funny that a perfectly maintained home was right next door to one with plywood over the windows. Sometimes I wish there was just a quick fix for the city; a way to get rid of all the violence that plagues the nightly news. Better help for those left to sleep on the cold park benches and alleyways. I'm sure at one time all of the Captitol was a lovely place to live. To be honest, I often thought about moving here once I got through school.

Cato would never allow it. He hated the city. Even visiting the Harbor Center was a chore for him. I can't see why, it truly is a beautiful sight. War time ships stationed in the water, brick and cobblestone walkways, leading to shops and restaurants. From the top of the hill overlook, the lights reflect off the water, shining brighter than the moon itself. I know the city gets a lot of bad press, but to me, it's one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen. I guess it's like anything else in the world, people are afraid of what they don't know.

Of course, who am I to judge? Here I am, stuck in my own worst nightmare, afraid of change. Seriously? What could possibly be worse than my life as of present? But yet, I'm utterly afraid of the unknown. What would become of me if I tried to rid my life of Cato? Sure, I'd like to image he would go willingly, leaving me free to live my life. Who was I kidding; he would never give up that easy. I couldn't even change my hair style without his permission. I guess it's pointless to dream of a life other than mine. The reality of it is that I was caught in a state of hopelessness and self pity, a place no one will ever truly understand. Capitol City, I feel your pain.

As I exit the train car, my nose fills with the familiar city smells of food carts and bay breeze. At first the sounds seem to blend together, but once I stop to listen I can distinctly hear the pulsing of the crosswalk light warning pedestrians not to cross, the humming of idling cars waiting at a busy one-way intersection, and the sounds of people talking and laughing, just going about their day. I wonder if this was what it was like to live here. You would think the combination of so many senses would be overwhelming, yet I find it soothing. For once, my constant worrying is not the foremost thing in my mind.

I don't really know where I want to go, I was just happy to be here. I take a right off the train and begin my way down the dense city sidewalks. I used to love going for walks. Trekking through the lightly wooded area just beyond my childhood neighborhood; my music player on repeat with my favorite album; the wind in my face, alone with my thoughts. God I miss those days. There is something relaxing about exploring, guided only by my own two feet.

Before I realize, I have stopped in front of the Capitol Mockingjays Baseball Museum. My love of the Mockingjays showcased within a historic row home-turned-museum. And free admission on weekdays? Now I just have to go in.

Brick covered walls and exposed beams display the history of baseball in our city. Industrial lighting shines like spotlights on each piece of memorabilia. The Capitol greats immortalized, I'm in awe of the sights before me. Brutus Hancock, perhaps the greatest Mockingjay of all time. From his record breaking streak of consecutive games to his contributions to Capitol communities, he is defiantly a hometown hero. Just seeing this brings a tear to my eyes. My grandfather loved Brutus. I remember the back room of my grandparents home, the walls covers in Mockingjay photos and such. Chaff Decanio and Brutus were his favorites. When he passed away, my grandmother took down most of the mementos and they were given to my mother. My father claimed most of them and gave the rest to my sister. I don't know why, she never even liked baseball growing up. Heck, I was the one who played softball 6 days a week for 7 years straight. But I guess that is neither here nor there. Anyway, granddad had this plaque commemorating Brutus' record breaking consecutive game streak. I remember that day like it was yesterday. Back then I was determined to be the first woman to pay for the Mockingjays. I was such a wonderful memory in my life. So, once my father received the memorabilia, I stole the plaque from the box and kept it hidden all these years in my closet, tightly tucked inside a fitted bed sheet. One last piece to remember my granddad. If he could only be here now, I'm sure he'd knock me upside the back of the head for not sticking up for myself.

I break my train of thought and move on. About 20 or so feet down the way, I see a life-sized cut -out of Woof Fogherty, and I can't help but smile. "Woof is my hero." Oh my god, I can't believe I used to tell that to everyone. A fellow lefty, he's the whole reason I started playing softball. Growing up left-handed, I was always uncomfortable in the world ruled by right handed sportsman. In soccer, my coaches made me lead with and throw dragging my right foot. In basketball, free throws were only taught with ones right hand under the ball and the left on the side. Even bowling balls were only made for right handed bowlers at the local alley. But when I saw Woof, a left-handed baseball player, thriving in a predominantly right-handed sport, I knew I wanted to play. My father was thrilled. "Left handed batters are the best follow up hitters, because the hit the ball behind the running on first, and a left-handed first basemen is unstoppable in the field.", he told me. So that's what I did. I practiced every day. I stretched into near splits to catch shortly thrown balls, ran drills for backing up the pitcher in the event of a bunt, and even learned to switch hit, just in case the opposing team decided to shift their players in anticipation of a left-handed batter. Yep, it was Woof Fogherty who inspired me. I guess he really was my hero, because playing softball was probably the only time in my life where I felt sure of myself. Thanks Woof.

After seeing Woof, nothing else seems to stand out as I walk aimlessly around the rest of the museum. I miss the feeling of joy softball used to bring me. The rush of a double play, the taste of sunflower seeds and Gatorade, dirt in my cleats and the tan line at my knees caused by my mismatched blue and yellow socks. I miss it all. It's just another joy that Cato stole from me. "You're spending too much time practicing." He said. "You are _my_ girlfriend!" I stop myself, not wanting to remember the physical side of that fight.

Oh how things have changed. I used to have so much fun. And my friends, what it was like to have friends. In hindsight, they couldn't have been really true friends. Most of them were only worried about taking my place as first-baseman as soon as I told them I was quitting the team. A few of them genuinely cared about me, but then once Cato gained control over me, I lost touch with even my closest friends. That's how he wanted me, all to his self. And now, I have no one left, except him. And I have let him do it to me; I have no one to blame but myself.

Even now, I'm here, somewhere that should only bring my happiness, and he litters my innermost thoughts. Can I not have even one pleasant memory without Cato tainting it? What is wrong with me? I have got to stop letting him in my head. How did it get this bad?

No more. I'm here to enjoy myself. I'm here to…. Why am I here? I mean seriously, I went all the way to the city and I don't even know why. At least I remember how I got here.

After briskly viewing the remaining exhibits in the museum, I exit out the same door and once again find myself on a crowded street. I can tell it's getting late as I head to the harbor, as I remember I hadn't really eaten since the gas station 6 hours early. There are at least a dozen restaurants circling the water, most of which I have been to before. But I've always wanted to try this Italian place, Casa Dei Sogni. It's this little family owned restaurant that's been passed down 3 generations. I think it means "Dream home" or something. The original owners opened the restaurant with literally every dollar they owned so that they could live out the dream of owning a restaurant. I've wanted to go there ever since I first came to the harbor, but Cato hates Italian food.

Stop it Katniss. He's not here. And you know what? Italian sounds great.

The doors open to an elegant yet casual main dining room, topped with a dome ceiling. Faux stucco and replications of Italian art covers every inch of wall space. The hostess breaks my gaze and seats me in booth near the kitchen. Before I can even open my menu, the server comes by.

"How are you doing tonight, my name is Finnick, I'll be taking care of you this evening. Can I start you off with something to drink?" he says so effortlessly.

"Just water please." I respond. He nods gently then recedes back into the kitchen. The menu is filled with choices and I become instantly overwhelmed. I haven't picked out my own food at a restaurant in years and it's been even longer since I've had authentic Italian food.

Finnick reappears within a few moments with my beverage. "Do you need a few minutes to look over the menu?" he asks his voice calming and firm.

"Surprise me." I reply with a smile. I know my one chance to pick my own dinner and I blow it. But honestly, the idea of taking such a chance with my food gives me a small rush.

"Excellent choice!" And with that he takes my menu and once again disappears around the corner.

Across the restaurant sits an elderly coupon sitting next to each other rather than across the table. They are holding hands while sipping wine, gazing out over the water through the window. They look unbelievably happy together. Oh what I wouldn't give to be that happy with someone. But as it stands right now, I'd rather just be alone.

I must have been staring at them for a while because the next thing I notice is Finnick bringing me my dinner. "Our 'Bay View Pasta', my personal favorite. Enjoy." I thank him with a subtle smile and begin to twirl the pasta on my fork. It's a delicious melody of fettuccine noodles tossed with lump crab meat and shrimp, covered in a rich white wine and cream sauce. I couldn't have picked a better dish myself. Its absolute perfection.

"This is amazing!" The words jump out of my mouth before Finnick can ask me upon his return.

"I'm glad. It's the cook's personal creation. He's been asking the owners to add it for months."

"Well they would be stupid not to! It's perfect!" I've never been so excited about food. In fact, I must sound ridiculous to this man, gushing about pasta like it's made of gold. "Thank you."

"No, thank you! Can I get you anything else?" I shake my head and he lays the check on the corner of the table. "No rush!"

I finish my pasta and leave cash for Finnick, including a 25% tip. I've been a server before and I know how hard he must work. Quite honestly, he deserved much more than I could give him. He didn't just serve me dinner, he made me feel comfortable, which is more than I could have hoped for.

I gather my jacket and make for the door, sorry to see this night coming to a close. But a quick peek at my watch shows that it is almost 8pm and surely someone will begin to wonder where I am. I guess all good things must come to an end.

The sun has just about set and the warm sun casts an orange glow on the bay. A few more minutes won't make that much of a difference. Besides, if Cato is going to get mad today, I might as well make the most of it.

Making my way to Capitol Hill isn't too far of a walk, just crossed a few streets and up the many stairs really. It's all worth it once I reach the top. This is the city you see in all those landscapes. It's breathtaking really. As the sun leaves the sky, the moon gently reflects on the water. The lights of the surrounding buildings glow in vibrant shades of blues and oranges. There's something about the lights on the harbor that just scream "Capitol". Majestic in every way, I am captivated by way sights which lay before me as I sit just below a canon on the edge of the hill.

"It's beautiful isn't it?" An unknown voice calls. I look over my shoulder to see an older gentleman, who I take to be homeless due to attire and overstuffed backpack.

"I wish I could look at it every day. Pictures really don't do it justice." I want to keep eye contact with him, but I simply can't turn away from the cityscape.

"You know, a lot of people here, they don't take the time to notice. They're too busy wrapped up in their lives. But if they just stop and look around, they'd realize, 'hey life ain't that bad'." His words are unexpectedly wise and bring a smile to my face. Breaking may gaze with the water, I glance at the man; a modern day philosopher. A middle aged man, clad in cargo pants and a faded blue tee shirt, with his worn sneakers repeatedly repaired by duct tape. I've never worn out a pair of shoes. I suppose its because I have so many. Its an compulsive addiction really. Heck, I still have shoes from middle school, barely any scuffs and the bottom soles still bare the company logo. My shame directs my eyes off to the middle distance.

But something brings me back and I once again turn to face him, suddenly more intrigued by this stranger. "Sometimes we don't have a choice. Life doesn't always work out the way you planned." The words flow from my mouth, before I have time to think about them first. God, how spoiled I must sound to him. Who am I to argue the unfairness of life with him?

"You're preaching to the choir young lady. I never thought I'd be here. But you know what? I _am_ here, and that counts for something." His smile catches me off guard. I can't look at him anymore, and turn my gaze back to the harbor. How selfish I must sound. I clearly appear to be someone with a home and means, yet here I was telling a homeless man, a very kind one at that, that my life sucks, wallowing in self pity.

"We all have a choice… it's just some of us don't have the strength to make it." And with that, he turned and walks away, leaving me speechless without meaning. My own silence confirms his theory. I am weak, and undeserving of the pity I had previously placed on myself.

This place has quickly become unbearable, clouded by my own inner demons. I bid goodbye to the city from atop my perch and make my way down the hill to the nearest train station. The station is much more crowded, filled with miscellaneous retail and restaurant workers heading home to their families.

Once onboard, I begin to drift off once again, my eyes fixated on the ever changing view outside the window. A dream of life here in the city, free to live out my days as I please, blending in with the thousands of lucky souls who call it home. Wishing one day to be as content as the stranger from the hill.


	4. Chapter 4

Authors notes:

Here's a short one. Will try a post another by Friday. Thanks for sticking with it. Im itching to get to Everlark stuff! Thanks

Just as my eyes seem to rest, they flutter open as the soft morning glow rises through the window. Sleep didn't come last night. Cato was waiting for me when I got home. I tried to lie and told him I got called into work, but he said he had called the restaurant. "How dare you disrespect him like that? Where were you? Off with some other guy?"

"No", I begged him to take pity on me since my cheek still bore a bruise from our last discussion, but to no avail.

"You will remember who you come home to next time. And now, since I can't trust you, you are now on curfew. You go to work, you come home. You call every time you arrive somewhere. You ask to go anywhere else." his screaming eased when he noticed me shaking in fear. "I love you honey. I worry about you." I wanted turn my face away from his palm as he reached out to caress my face, but I thought better of it.

Still sitting in the fetal position by the window, I admit defeat to the sun and get ready for work. Its not so bad today, Madge is working the same shift as me and while she will never know to what depths Cato has hurt me, she is the only person in this world who I trust to talk to.

My sister is down stairs when I finally emerge from my room. Sitting at the kitchen counter, her two braids fall to each side of her face as she eats her cereal. And as I walk past her, rounding my way to the coffee pot, I pause to tuck in the back of her blouse into the skirt of her girl scout uniform.

"Seriously Prim, soon I'm going to have to stop referring to you as 'little duck'. You are almost as tall as me."

"Yeah, but somehow the nickname 'duck' just doesn't have the same ring to it."

The laugh we share lightens the air. "Well I gotta get going. Don't forget to take a key with you. Grandma is picking you up and you know she always forgets to bring it."

"What would I do without you sis." Unable to look her in the eyes, the profile of my smile the only response I can offer her. What if one day, I wasn't here for her?

The drive to the restaurant only takes eight minutes, and concludes with me parking my car in the same spot I have every day for the two years I have worked here. I clock in and tie my apron around my waist, not as tightly as usual due to my newest infliction. Right on the top of my left hip, easily hidden, yet offers a painful reminder with every move I make. Ever stealthy, Madge sneaks up behind me just in time to notice the wince I let out.

"Rough night, huh?" I nod, not needing to tell her anymore. "You know how badly I want to just shake you until you wake up, girlie? How much more can you take before he breaks you?"

Tears well up in my eyes but they don't fall. My words flow easily, as I let go of the breath I have been holding. "I'm already broken."

Madge's eyes soften, no longer set on lecturing me, she knows I need a sympathetic ear. "Well, you know I'm here for you, sweetie. Now let's get this place set before the early birds get here." She offers a superficial smile and nudges my shoulder as she walks past.

The shift was normal, a nice quiet reprieve from earlier events. One of my regulars came in, this middle aged couple with four kids. Rambunctious group they are. I don't know how they do it. But every time they come in, the youngest seems set on making the hugest mess. While other servers would look down on such behavior, I remember Prim acting out similarly as a young child and sympathize. This was, after all, the parents attempt at a nice night out. Why should I ruin it by making a fuss? Anyway, they always leave a nice tip, usually over 30%. So what's picking up French fries and macaroni and cheese at the end of the day?

I cash out with my boss and tip the bartender before heading out to my car, remembering at the last minute to call Cato. "I'm getting in my car. I'll be home in ten minutes."

"Okay honey. See wasn't that easy? Now I will always know where you are." The farewell between us is blurry, its irrelevant. Only one phrase matters to me…..

"I'll always know where you are."


	5. Chapter 5

Authors notes:

Hey ya'll! Sorry about the delay, but with the holiday weekend, I took my kids on a few spontaneous day trips and was unable to update. But I'm back and diving into the story once again. Thanks for the reviews and such. Enjoy

RavensStoryteller RavensStoryteller RavensStoryteller RavensStoryteller RavensStoryteller

The past few weeks have been a rollercoaster in themselves. Despite my recent efforts to please Cato with my curfew, he seems to be seeking out ways to punish me. Forgot to remind him about his dentist appointment, pushed into the side of the car door. Didn't wait for him to be ready for dinner, held my throat until my face turned purple. Asked to go out with Madge for her birthday, jar candle thrown at my face. Make-up hides the bruises. Even if it didn't, people only see what they want to see.

But in all this, my mother surprised us last week. She had booked a last minute vacation to District 4. Six days and seven nights in an ocean front condo. Swimming with my sister in the ocean, nightly mini golf competitions with my parents. The best part hit me seconds later. Cato was in mandatory overtime for work at that time and wouldn't be able to get off. My first true vacation in years.

I had to hide my excitement, even told him I didn't have to go. Much to my surprise, his response offered the first compassionate exchange I have had with him in years. "Nah, honey I want you to go. Enjoy some time with your family." I return his crocked smile with a soft one of my own. That was too easy, I thought.

As I turn to return to the kitchen, happy to be able to accept my mother's invitation, is when he lets his true colors show.

"I know you'll be ok. Won't you?" I pause, not daring to face him. "After all, I'd hate for something to 'come up".

TWO WEEKS LATER…..

My bags are packed, my shifts covered at work. All that is left to do is load the car and leave.

I help my mom by packing our car before she gets home from work. Somehow I manage to load luggage for all four of us in the small trunk. Well, my backpack and our pillows will have to sit in the back with Prim and I, but I don't think she will mind.

I smile and wave at my mom as she pulls in the drive way, proud of my accomplishment. "All packed mom! Not much room to spare but it's in there."

"Did you pack the boogie boards?" she asks.

"Ugh! No! I'll make them fit trust me!" I respond confidently.

"Oh honey, don't worry! Just put it in the other car." Confused, I raise a brow.

Just as I hear the words flow from her mouth, a familiar car pulls up to the house. "Surprise! Cato called me earlier today! He was able to get off work, so he is coming with us!"

My mouth hangs open, my heart crushed, unable to speak. My mother fills the silence. "Oh look there he is now! Isn't this wonderful! I'll let you help him load his car! Be ready to go when your father gets home."

With his same crocked smile, he proudly strides up the driveway, bringing me into a tight hug when he reaches me. "See, I always find a way to be with you. Now I don't have to worry about you." He moves to kiss my cheek, but I flinch slightly I response. Both of our eyes widen when they meet. I'm sure to pay for that later.

We drive through the night, me in the passenger seat of Cato's car. Pretending to sleep, my mind is secretly racing. But I must remain calm, lest my tears betray me. My headphones still on, my latest playlist on repeat, I slip into a semi conscience state, losing myself to the music.

"You got a fast car,

Is it fast enough so we can fly away?

We gotta make a decision,

Leave tonight, or live and die this way?"

A classic, by the unparalleled Tracy Chapman. I never noticed how sad this song really is, until, in that moment I realized how much I could relate.

When the day breaks, when cross the border into District 4. Tropical trees line small roads, labeled by hand carved wooden signs. The salted sea breeze tickles my nose through the open window.

"We're here. Can you believe it?" he asks the first words he has spoken to me since he appeared in my parent's driveway the day before.

"No." It's the truth; I can't believe WE are here.

We all unpack the car and head to the room. 502. The unit is spacious, almost as big as our house. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a wrap-around kitchen, living room/dining room combo, and a large ocean front balcony. Prim graciously offered to sleep on the sleeper sofa in the living room, giving her room to Cato. For that I am thankful, making it so that he would have to pass by my parent's room to get to mine, offering a small sense of security.

I decide against unpacking my suitcase. By the time I get used to what drawers my clothes are in, it's time to pack up and head home anyway. The day is uneventful, mostly relaxing in the room.

As we ready for dinner at my favorite restaurant, I am followed into my room by Cato. I look forward to dinner at this restaurant every time we come here and as a surprise, my mother had made reservations tonight to "start the week off right".

Cato moves to my suitcase, and removes the revealing black dress sleeveless dress I had brought for a possible night at the local dance club. "Are you serious? I can't wear this to dinner with my parents!"

"Can't wear what?" my mother pokes her head in my room. "I agree! Why not wear this one darling?" she pulls out my orange sundress from my suitcase.

"I nod, accepting the garment from her. When I face Cato, that all too familiar expression is glaring at me once again, but I don't care. He can't ruin tonight. My mom was right, this dress was perfect.

My defiance continues at dinner, rejecting the entrée Cato tried to order for me and insisting on the fresh fish special I always get. And when I order a glass of wine with dinner, despite his objection, his eyes are full of fire and rage. What has gotten into me? I'm not sure I really understood the consequences, but regardless, it felt great to stand up for myself.

But my strength was short lived, and once again I found myself submitting to Cato's rage. Once we reach the condo, I excuse myself to my bedroom, closely followed by Cato.

As soon as the door closes, my vision blacks out.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's notes:

Thanks again for all the reviews and love. Things are starting to pick up!

I just want to point out that it is my purpose to show that Katniss' mental state has wavered frequently, hence why some chapters she appears to be talking to herself more and experiencing black outs more than others. As with the cycle of an abusive relationship, there are ups and down, and though negative as a whole, some days are worse than others.

As always please read and review

Till next time… RavenStoryteller

RavenStoryteller RavenStoryteller RavenStoryteller RavenStoryteller RavenStoryteller RavenStoryteller RavenStoryteller

Where am I?

I awaken from my daze as suddenly as I had begun. A quick glance at my surroundings makes me wish I hadn't. I found myself staring down, 12 balconies seemingly stacked below my feet, the salty breeze stinging my face as it dried my tears. The faint scent of sweat which woke me tickled my nose. It was then that I realized I was its source. My sudden awareness of my own condition gave way to striking pain, radiating from my left knee. Back to the ledge, I slowly stepped down, stumbling against the wall 6 feet back. What if I hadn't?

"Where am I?" I dared to let my confusion part my lips. My hair grazed my cheeks as I peered into the night sky. The moon seemed to call to me as I once again found myself distracted from my current predicament. "Why?" I asked the sky. As if expecting an explanation, I stared at its opulence. Surely such a peaceful sight had the answers. Who am I talking to? While I was still confused over my whereabouts, I was certain that I was alone. I preferred it that way. I was better off alone.

In the sky, I found the answers to my questions. I was on the roof of the Crescent Pearl, the condominium complex in District 4. It was not the peaceful vacation it once was, though I made sure to conceal my feelings from everyone. It was once a yearly reminder of family, fun and love. This year it was a cruel charade, marred by Cato's constant watch. Even in my most private moments, I felt his eyes on me. I hadn't the courage to suggest he stay home. Then again, my family was oblivious to his constant abuse. So, to spare myself any further pain, I just went along with it, locking away my inner most thoughts. If I didn't know how to react to my feelings, how could they?

I had been here before, on the roof, though this is the first time I did so without knowing why.

"Again." The only word I can muster at my latest revelation. What is happening to me? Another episode, I thought. I blacked out again, my mind trying to spare itself from Cato's rage. I felt my heart sink as I realized I wasn't getting better, it was getting worse. The lapses in time becoming more frequent, making it harder to keep track of even the simplest of memories. However, this time, the result of my blackout was almost too frightening to imagine. With that, I gave myself a quick pat-down confirming that, while shaken, I was okay. But next time, I wondered, would I be so lucky?

Desperate for a distraction, I reached for my cell phone. The screen flashed and within the split second it took the time to update on the lock screen, I took notice of the expired time.

"9:11pm. Now 1:54am." Almost five hours of my life lost. The last thing I remember was quickly pushing that same button, locking the screen and blocking the view of others. What was I doing? With a bit of hesitation, I swiped my unlock code across the smeared screen. My note pad app was still open; the most recent note, my journal I kept on my phone, was stamped "9:05pm". With almost no thought, I opened the entry. I felt my eyes well up as I dropped the phone, horrified at my last word, from my previous train of thought…..

"Jump."

I sat on the concrete, cold in contrast to the warm summer night breeze. I couldn't bear the thought of my own instructions. How close had I come to making that word my last?

"You've got a fast car,

Is it fast enough so I can fly away?

I gotta make a decision,

Leave tonight, or live and die this way."

I sit singing, trying to comfort myself. Suddenly, the words hit harder that the ever had.

I picked up the phone, deleting each of the four letters, only to replace them with five new ones….

"Leave."

I wasn't sure what came over me. Perhaps I was just my nerves getting the best of me. Regardless of the reasoning (or lack thereof), I sprinted into action, not second guessing myself. I fled to the stairwell. The elevator would have offered less control to me, and I felt as though only the movement of my own legs should guide me. I ran, down God knows how many stairs to the 5th floor. I hesitated as I reached the door to the unit that was to house my family for the next week. I slid five feet to the right, remembering that I had left the window to my bedroom slightly open earlier so I could feel the gentle breeze which now stung my swollen eyes.

"Quiet," I whispered to myself as I slid open the window and stepped inside, gingerly placing my feet on the sand worn carpet. I froze for a moment, listening for signs of life, but only my own breath was detected. I glanced upon the barren room. My bags still packed, thrown across the bed and nearby floor, an instant reminder of the pain that lead me to this moment. I made my way to the door, carefully stepping over the broken glass on the floor, while bracing myself against the wall it had shattered on. I peered into the darkness, unsure of what I would find. Silence.

Slowly I made my way down the narrow hallway, passed the remaining bedrooms to the living room, briefly pausing as the cold tile beneath my toes transitioned into plush carpet. I scanned the space, unsure of what I was looking for, until my eyes rested on my mother's purse.

"Mom." Up until now I hadn't thought of her, or anyone for that matter. I felt my chest tense, just as I had on the roof as I realized the full weight of my decision. Running from this, meant running from her as well. What about my father? Oh my god PRIM! I glanced at where she slept on the sofa, just 15 feet in front of me. She would never forgive me. I had become something of a mother to her when my mom decided to go back to school. For the longest time, she would slip and call me "Mom….err… Kat." And here I was, about to walk out on her. It wasn't her fault. It was mine.

NO it was Cato's. Even worse. Devastating the ones I loved because someone I forced down their throats. My sore eyes released another tear. I was coming undone, just as I had every other time I tried to escape my tormentor.

I squatted down, holding my face in my bruised hands. Something caught my eye. The glow from beyond the sliding glass balcony door. Slowly, I lifted my head to meet its gaze. Once again, the moon had captured my attention, this time; it appeared to dance its own reflection in the calm ocean waters. Its fullness was something I longed for, and its presence embodied everything I had wished for so long. It was if it was calling me, as ridiculous as it sounds.

Suddenly, as if something had come over me, I turned my back on the sky once again. I reached into my mother's purse and removed her wallet. $800 in twenties. She always traveled with cash, afraid that her credit card number would get stolen. As I went to replace the now empty wallet, a note pad laid a light scratch on the back of my hand, as if to alert me to my next step. With some digging, I pulled a pen from her bag and without thought began to transfer my thoughts onto the paper. Before I knew it, the skinny page was full and I signed my name at the bottom. "This is only for her.", I thought of Prim.

I slowly crept into the room my parents shared, and carefully laid the paper on her nightstand and glanced at the face which resembled my own, as a final tear glided down my chin. And with that, I exited as quietly as I had entered.

I didn't turn back as I fled back down the hall to my room, locking the door behind me. I could feel my body moving, yet my mind had no control over my actions. I grabbed my bags (a small duffle, a backpack and my purse) and climbed back out the window. Down the hall, down the elevator, and out of the building.

The wind blew against me, as if to push me, but I am determined this time.

I was not going back.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Notes:

I am overwhelmed with joy from the reviews and messages I have received! I love the feedback! I will try to update in the next day or so!

So…. Without further ado…..

Enjoy

RavenStoryteller RavenStoryteller RavenStoryteller RavenStoryteller RavenStoryteller

The sharp hissing of the bus's brakes wakes me from my pleasant slumber, immediately followed by the rustling of bags as people hurry to exit. Why does everyone always fight to get off the bus first? It's the same everywhere really; on airplanes, in movie theaters, when exiting amusement park rides. I'm sorry, but waiting just seems to make more sense. Why rush and bump into God knows how many people, just so you can get off two minutes sooner? Besides, waiting allows me to take care in gathering my belongings, and the feeling that I may have left something behind in my haste won't come back to haunt me later.

The familiar smells of the Capitol fill my senses. The salt water breezes from this morning are nowhere to be found, and in its place stands the mixture of century old factories and pavement. It is truly intoxicating, and I had no idea how much I missed it. It would have been easier to hide in District 4, but it wouldn't have been so close to home. But then again, I haven't had a true home in years. Home is just another thing he has stolen from me.

Stop. Let it go. Don't let him get to you.

The lights shine brighter than the stars do over the city. I would love nothing more than to take in the site but I have to focus. Find shelter; safety. Where to start? What are you doing? You have no idea where to go! What did you get yourself into? Great, even my own mind is against me now.

While most of the others from the bus are greeted by loved ones, thrown into a warm embrace, my arms are left cold. There is no one for me here. I am alone.

I…. am….alone.

I consolidate my bags, stuffing my purse into my duffle and slinging over my shoulder, then putting my backpack on over top. My appearance has shifted from traveler to commuter. One thing I have learned in my 17 short years while vacationing, is never look like a tourist. Tourists are easy targets. Think about it. Tourists don't know the area, they are rarely certain of their direction, and they are preoccupied by everything except their surroundings. Sure I've been downtown many times before, but this time was different. Leaving was not in the cards this time around. And I had nowhere to go. I had to make this work.

"Tribute Street. Mockingjay Park is on Tribute Street. The breeze comes off the Harbor, so it must be this way." I stop, realizing I am already talking to myself. This is going to be a long night.

The urban skyline truly is amazing. Building of varying age, spanning centuries give way to billboards and sky ramps which seem to have taken the place normally occupied by trees. It's a different kind of beautiful, one that I am certainly not used to. Nothing about this situation is "classic Katniss". I have spontaneously flipped my whole world upside down, and yet I am content. I never thought I would be here, and yet I feel as though I should have been here all along.

The wrought iron gates to Mockingjay Park are cold against my palms and bring me back from my thoughts. Despite my preoccupation with maintaining my composure and my bearings, I find I have once again spaced out, and for quite a while as it seems. By now, the sun is almost set, and the once refreshing breeze now sends shivers down my neck.

Focus, Katniss. Find a safe place to sleep.

But there is none. At this time of day, local shelters are surely full, and everywhere I think to look is either already occupied or is completely unsettling.

So I trek on. Down through the alleyways and back streets, just in case one may contain a secure place to rest my head. I'm running out of time as the sun has almost set, and I am reminded by the breeze that the Capitol is much too cold for the District 4 attire I am still wearing.

Alas, I can't help but to take in my surroundings, relishing in deep breathes I suddenly feel free enough to take. I have never felt so alive.

When my feet finally stop, I find myself in a familiar place in front of Casa Dei Sogni. My stomach growls reminding me that I haven't eaten since the night before at my last dinner with my family.

My family. That night at the restaurant had been so full of love and happy memories. Playfully teasing about Prim's childhood habits, joking about how she would fair in high school next year, reminiscing about the good old days of softball with my dad, filling him in on what my former teammates were up to, and my mom and I planning a girls only spa day for later in the week. The smile I started my thought with was now washed away with the lone tear that has now fallen.

However, that is now my past and I must remain positive about the future. Cato can't have that too.

Walking up to the giant glass door, I grasp the gold plated handle and pause before opening it. "The first step in a happier tomorrow is a pleasant today" I whisper to myself.

The welcoming smells of olive oil and garlic amplify the hunger in my belly. And as I close my eyes an inhale the sweet aroma, I am greeted once again by the lively hostess.

"Hey I remember you! Welcome back! Table for one right?" she asks with a chipper smile.

"Am I that pathetic eating alone that I'm that easy to remember?" my question sounds bitterer aloud.

"Actually, no." she lowers her head, embarrassed. "I actually remembered the Mockingjay pin on your purse. I've been a huge fan since I was little. It reminds me of one my dad used to have."

The memory seems to bring more pain to her eyes. I look down at my pin, giving it a small smile before removing it from my bag.

"Here" I say, extending the pin to the hostess.

"Oh no! I couldn't! I…" she attempts to brush off my gesture.

"Seriously, I insist." Offering her the token once again with a smile. "Consider it a tip for excellent service and a seat with a great view."

"Wow! Thank you…" she pauses.

"Katniss. My name is Katniss."

"Annie." Her face beaming with excitement. "Well thanks Katniss, really. You have no idea what this means to me."

"I'm happy to do it. Just remember to pay it forward."

"Well, as promised, please follow me to the best seat in the house." She leads me to the same booth as before with an ideal view of both the harbor and the kitchen.

Unlike before, about half the tables are full now, occupied with a mix of families, couples and friends. One thing strikes deep in my heart.

I am the only table of one.

" So…. My Annie tells me you are the reason she can't stop smiling." The handsome server, Finnick I think, has broken my darker thoughts. "Glad you liked the chef's specialty enough to come back." He remembers me as well.

"It was nothing really. Glad to do it. Besides, I was in the neighborhood and couldn't pass up you're impeccable service either." My sly compliment seems to fuel his ego more.

"Well then, I don't think I can let such kind act go unnoticed, nor that gracious compliment. Will you trust the chef again this evening? I don't need to tell you that you won't be disappointed." His charm seems to radiate through his smile and reflect in his piercing green eyes.

"As always." He nods and takes the menu I didn't even bother to open.

As he disappears into the kitchen, I can vaguely make out his telling the chef to give me the "VIP treatment".

About twenty minutes or so pass, until Finnick emerges from the kitchen, tray proudly held high. Then, in one seamless motion, rotates the tray to set it on the stand next to my table.

"Madame, our chef's famous Lamb Stew with dried plums. And, at my insistence, cheese buns. You're gonna want to dip those in the stew. It's truly life changing."

"Wow! I have never had lamb stew or cheese buns. Sounds interesting." I say back, suddenly unsure of my decision to trust the chef.

"I'll be back in a moment to check on you." He leaves to start closing up the dining room, as Annie locks the front doors for the night.

The second he turns his back to me I dive into my first bite of stew. The meat is so tender; it melts as it passes my lips. The plums are slightly chewy, like raisins, adding sweetness to the palate that is surprising yet perfect. And when I dip a cheese bun into the remaining broth, all the flavors seems to dance playfully on my tongue. The perfect melody. And before I know it, I am soaking up the last of the stew with my only remaining cheese bun, licking my fingers afterwards.

"Well I suppose I can tell the chef you liked it." Finnick says when he returns to refill my glass of water.

"That… was… amazing! I'm sorry to say the chef's days of surprising me are over. I'm going to have to have this from now on."

He smiles and leaves, saying nothing more. A few minutes later, he returns with a bag and the bill. "For you, Miss. The chef said he would rather someone enjoy it rather than it get thrown away." I peek into the bag to find a to-go container of stew and four cheese buns.

Normally my pride would insist on protesting the offering of free food, but I know I'll need food for tomorrow. "Thank you. For everything."

"My pleasure." He smiles and walks away. When I open the check book, all that stares back at me is a note.

"Anytime VIP - chef P"

I approach Annie, inquiring about my bill.

"Have a good night, Katniss." Is all she says as she unlocks and holds open the door for me to exit.

Their kindness overwhelms me, and as the first happy tears I have cried in almost forever fill my eyes, all I can do I nod in appreciation as I exit out into the cool city once again.

Once again, I am alone. Shuffled steps lead me to a set of benches around the corner. I sit as the yells of a couple fighting in the alley my latest muse.

All couples fight I suppose. It's kind of ridiculous to think that two individuals can come together and agree all the time. Sooner or later, differences are bound to erupt. Was what I had with Cato really that bad? Surely others have it worse. I could still go back, beg for understanding, even though experience has taught me he has none to offer.

"Stop it Katniss."I say to myself, needing to hear it spoken aloud.

My tired eyes soon begin to droop, when a man approaches from behind the bench. Before I can even get look at his face, he has a knife to my throat, frightening the breath from my lungs.

"The purse, hand it over. And the food. NOW" he shouts, increasing the pressure of the knife just below my chin.

I am frozen, paralyzed. "I can't." the words come out hoarsely. Handing over my purse, with all my money, means an end to my freedom, and I would rather die than go back to the painfully slow demise that is Cato.

"Have it your way." I shut my eyes, and tense my body to the point of pain. And then, for a split second, I find peace in my thoughts, just before my head hits the pavement.

My awareness wavering, I open my eyes to see Finnick holding my assailant to the ground, as I feel a hand brush the side of my face.

I can just make out the blue in his eyes as I lose consciousness.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's notes:

Yay! Time to dive into some Everlark!

I just want to take a few seconds to respond to several reviews and messages I have gotten regarding Katniss' parents and their lack of knowledge of her abusive relationship with Cato. Without getting into it too much, I want to explain. I know from personal experience that people sometimes only see what they want to see. Meaning, if someone sees a bruise on someone arm, they tend rationalize, sometimes at a subconscious level, rather than think the worst. Also, when you are a victim of an abusive relationship you fell ashamed and go to great lengths to hide it. None of this makes Katniss' parents bad people nor does it reflect badly on Katniss for trying to hide it, it is simply one of the dangerous factors of abuse.

As always, thanks soooooo much for the review and the love. Keep it up!

So…. Back to the story we go! Enjoy

RavenStoryteller RavenStoryteller RavenStoryteller RavenStoryteller RavenStoryteller

The sun beams from the other side of my closed eyelids, making me instantly aware of my migraine. Rubbing my face with both hands, I move to sit up, waiting for my vision to come into focus. However, I am immediately held down by a gentle force.

"Whoa! You had quite a tumble there. Don't sit up too fast."

I squint to focus on the face behind the familiar voice. "Annie?"

"Oh good! She speaks!" she jokes, trying to brighten the mood. "Can I get you anything?"

"Ugh…. Head ache. Got anything for that?"

Annie nods and leaves the room, returning seconds later with two pills and a glass of water.

"What happened?" For waking up in pain, in a strange room, I sure feel calm.

"What do you remember?"

"Sitting on the bench." In a moment it all comes back to me. "The man, with the knife! Oh my God, my purse!" again, I try to jump up from the bed.

"Slow down there. Don't worry, he didn't get it. It's here!" She reaches down beside the bed near where she is sitting and lifts my purse into view. "I carried you stuff back after you passed out."

"What… how…..." I can't decide on my next question, leaving me unable to form one.

"We were leaving for the night and saw the whole thing. I hate to admit but I was terrified. If it wasn't for the guys, I don't know what would have happened!"

"Guys?"

"Finnick and –"she begins as the door opens after a gentle knock. From the other side, walks in Finnick, followed by a man with blue eyes I thought I had imagined.

"Telling tales of my bravery again my dear?" Finnick strides into the room. "How are feeling Katniss? Sorry we couldn't get to you sooner, but-"

"No! Seriously! Thank you, you're the reason I'm alive and talking to you now."

"Well, I did manage to teach his a lesson." His ego seems to grow with every statement.

"What are you talking about Finn? Peeta's the one who knocked the guy out! All you did was sit on an unconscious dude until the cops came." Annie retorts, causing Finnick's face to flush, as the room goes quiet. I look around at the three of them, finally resting on the only one who has yet to speak.

"Peeta?" I ask.

"Uh yeah. I'm Peeta." He says, lowering his head briefly to look at his shoes. "I'm sorry if you got hurt. I was just trying to get the guy off of you. I didn't know he would push you like that."

"Get him off her? Dude, I've never seen a guy hit the ground that fast! I'm telling you, Katniss, knocked…. out…..cold!" Finnick seems to have shifted his ego to his friend.

"Umm, thanks….. Peeta." I pause to relish in the way his name rolls off my tongue. "I, uh, can't thank you enough."

"It was nothing, Katniss."

"How do you know my name?" I know my head is fuzzy, but I'm certain I haven't told him.

"Finnick filled me in. After you passed out, I carried you back to our place. We didn't know where you live and we couldn't find your phone to call anyone-"

"I don't have a phone…. Or anyone." I whisper the second part of my response so quietly I'm surprise he hears it.

"Oh, sorry. Anyway, Annie offered to let you sleep it off in her room. She said she owed you after you gave her that pin." He is no longer looking down when he speaks. His eyes, now fixed on mine, are a vibrant shade of blue, so bright, they almost don't seem real. Yet, with the rareness of their hue, something keeps telling me I've seen them before.

Snapping out of my fog, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "So you work in the restaurant too?"

He lets out a breath, tinged with a laugh. "Yeah, I'm the guy who made that stew you almost got killed for. I guess I'll take that as a compliment."

My jaw drops. "Oh. Well, then thanks again. I just didn't, couldn't lose my purse. This is literally all I have left. Besides, that stew was amazing." I offer, trying to lighten the mood.

"Thanks." Now it's he who pauses, staring into my eyes with his. Damn, my heads hurts so much. "So, how long do you need to stay?"

"I don't want to be a burden. I can leave if you want."

"No, that's not what I meant. I mean, can we help you get home? No rush though."

"Um, this is kind of embarrassing but, do you know of any long term shelters? Yesterday was first day here and I kinda got here after they all shut their doors for the night. So…."

Annie looks to Finnick, and then they both turn to Peeta, who appears deep in thought. After a moment of silence, he speaks. "Well, I think I speak for the three of us when I say you are welcome to stay as long as you need. Just know that we all pitch in around here. Annie can fill you in. Perhaps this is our way to 'pay it forward'."

I hate to owe people, but for once, it feels great to have someone offer to help. "Thank you! You have no idea how much this means to me. I don't know how to repay you guys."

Annie and Finnick nod and walk out the room. Peeta turns to follow but pauses at the door and looks back at me from over his shoulder. Smiling, his last words shock me. "Tie perhaps?"

The words flow naturally, without thought. "Just this once." And as the last word passes my lips, it hits me.

Peeta was the stranger from the store, the subject of all my fleeting dreams, and now, he was my savior.


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Notes:

Thanks for all the reviews and messages. I love the ideas you guys have offered and will definitely keep them in mind

I will try to update before the weekend

As always, please review, I love hearing from you!

RavenStoryteller RavenStoryteller RavenStoryteller RavenStoryteller RavenStoryteller

"So there are five of us. Well, six now, I guess. You've already seen my room. There's Finnick and Peeta, they share that room." Annie says, pointing at the room at end of the long hallway, just across from hers. "Johanna, don't get on her bad side by the way, she sleeps in there. And Gale has the den. He put up that curtain thing to block it off, but half the time he sleeps in Johanna's room with her. They think they are being all sneaky about it but they really aren't."

I miss the mark to laugh at Annie's gossip, so I offer a late smirk. "Good to know."

"There are two bathrooms; one here in the hallway and one in through Finnick and Peeta's room. Johanna has kinda taken over the hall one so I use Finnick's. I'm sure they won't mind if you use it too."

"I don't take up much room. Never liked to wear make-up and now I don't have to."

"Awesome! Well, other than that, there's the living room here, the kitchen has that little dining nook in it. A little background on the apartment; we are the second floor unit. There's the roof terrace above us, and Ms. Mags live on the first floor. Johanna works for her, running errands and stuff. The laundry room is across the hall from her apartment."

My head is still pounding, but I don't have the heart to tell Annie to slow down. She seems genuinely excited that I'm going to be staying here.

"Anyway, Finnick, Peeta and I work at the restaurant, Johanna works for Mags, and Gale is an 'independent contractor'. He kinda just does odd jobs here and there. Do you have a job?"

"I was working at this family diner back home, but I guess that ship has sailed."

"That's ok! I'll talk to Haymitch tomorrow! He's the manager where we work, and I'm sure he'll give you a shot. I think Finnick was saying we needed another server."

I nod. It would be nice to be back to work in a restaurant again.

"So that's our place! We all kinda chip in around here. I have laundry and dinner duty. I talked to the boys and they said it would be okay if you helped me out as far as your contribution." I didn't think it was possible, but she seems even perkier after that last sentence.

Without hesitation, I lunge forward, embracing Annie in a full-fledged hug. "Thank you Annie. It's nice to have a real friend."

"You're welcome Katniss. Now go on and set up your stuff in my room. Peeta is picking you up a mattress and some other stuff with Finnick. Although I do have to wonder why I trusted two guys to do a girls shopping."

"I'm sure everything they get will be perfect. Anyway, I don't really have much stuff, so there really isn't much to set up." Why do I keep turning her conversations to darker topics? I really need to work on being more positive. "So, are you and Finnick, you know?"

"Together? Yeah. We met a year and a half ago when he found me sleeping at the train station. It was a cold winter that year, and he invited me to come back here for hot chocolate. And me, completely ignoring that whole 'stranger danger' thing they taught us when we were kids, came back here and fell asleep on this couch, right here. When I woke up the next morning, Peeta and Finn asked me to stay."

"And Johanna and Gale?"

"Jo got caught by Haymitch digging in the trash cans behind the restaurant and practically begged to live here. Gale used to do handyman work for Haymitch, practically lived around the restaurant, but when his parents died, Haymitch caught him sleeping in the kitchen so now he trades work for rent."

"So this is Haymitch's apartment?"

"It's his building. Mags was a friend of his mom's so he moved her in years ago. Our apartment, he used to live in, but now he has a house in Victor's Village. You know that really up and coming neighborhood a few blocks away? Well, when he moved out, he told Peeta he could stay and look after the place."

"So Haymitch is Peeta's dad?"

"God no! Well, I guess kinda become like a dad to him. Peeta's just like the rest of us. Haymitch took him in when he was 14 years old."

"What kind of guy just takes in a 14 year old off the streets like that?"

A different voice answers. "The kind of guy who understands that you can't go back if you want to move forward." His voice, while smooth and gentle, startles me. Peeta stands at the front door, followed by Finnick, their arms filled with shopping bags. "Your mattress is downstairs. I'll go get it and set it up in Annie's room."

Annie and I take the bags from the boys and take them to our room to unload. Towels, toiletries, a bed set.

It doesn't take me long to set up my side of the room. Annie has cleared the nightstand drawers for me to use, as well as half of her closet. With all the available space, it becomes painfully obvious how little I have left to my name. On the bright side, at least I have control over my life now.

I'm just finishing making my bed when there's a knock on the door. "How's it going in here?" Peeta enters the room slowly.

"All finished up. Thanks again, for everything."

He smiles, his eyes go soft, as though taking in every angle of my face, then clears his throat. "I um… got you this." He places a simple cell phone in my hand. "It's a prepaid and not as fancy as the one you are probably used to but if you need me, or us, any of us, we are just a phone call away. I put everyone's numbers in there for you."

I can't contain my appreciation, which seeps through my face in the form of a sad smile. "Peeta, about the other night, I can't thank-"

"Katniss, seriously, we are good. Everyone could use a friend every now and then."

"I've never been good at whole 'friends' thing. And we hardly know anything about each other, yet you are letting me stay here."

"Well, I know you partake in late night shopping, have a love for dessert flavored ice creams, and love my cooking so much that you would rather die than let it go."

"To be fair, the guy was also trying to steal my purse, you know." I playfully joke. But soon there is a peaceful silence again, one I am desperate to fill. "Well, you know everything about me apparently, but I know nothing about you other than the fact that you are an amazing cook and have a mean right hook."

"I used to be on a wrestling team, I don't mean to brag but I was pretty good, in fact I was second only to my older brother. As for my culinary skills, Haymitch taught me everything he knows." The glimmer in his eye reveals the depth of his pride. "I don't like coffee, I'm 17 years old and still double knot my shoe laces, and I love to paint."

"Now that's all fine and dandy, but I don't even know your favorite color."I say sarcastically.

"Orange." He stands and walks to the door.

Suddenly, my heart is leaping from my chest, and as he reaches for the door handle, I respond. "Green."

He turns to show his smile. "Nice to meet you Katniss."

As the door closes, I whisper, "Nice to see you again, Peeta."


End file.
